My Hands

I'm feeling sentimental today. I miss my sweet wife who is recovering at the hospital while I'm at home with our 3 other kiddies. I was going through my old poem archive and found this one; Its the first poem I ever wrote to her before we were married. 

I look at my hands so weathered and worn

I’ve done it many times

I've looked deep thought out my life

To see what I could find

Why were they empty?

I am an artist

I am a writer

As from this I'm sure you know

With my hand I can do any thing

When I tell them where to go

Why were they empty?

I take stones and break them down

And shape them as I will

I place them up upon a wall

And make them stay so still

I even use them for the lord

When he asks of me to serve

I go and do it willingly

And reap what I deserve

Still they were empty!?!

I looked into my hands and would weep

Why couldn't I find peace?

I prayed to the lord for comfort

Then cried my self to sleep

I had a dream of Christ

And saw his hands were full

He showed me both his hands and feet

He showed me all the holes

He told me with his eyes

That my emptiness didn't have to be

That though his hands, all my pain

Was taken away from me.

I woke up, oh so happy

For my pain was gone

My hands were still empty

But knew they wouldn't be for long

So when you feel down and out

And worry runs you through

Take comfort that my hands are full now

Because there busy holding you